Coming Home
by glockcourage
Summary: Summary: Of course, Mrs. Thornton is surprised to see the second visitor for the day.
1. Coming Home

A/N: I just discovered this amazing, amazing period drama. And now I can't help but want to do this...

Disclaimer: I own nothing...except a house and it's made out of h, o, u, s, and e.

.

 **Coming Home**

"John, you'll never guess who was here," Mrs. Thornton said as soon as she saw her son alighting from the closed carriage. She had been waiting for his arrival. Not knowing where he was at a time when they just lost everything made her linger outside their house. Her son was made of far sturdier stuff than his father but still she couldn't help the worry that twisted her gut.

Acutely aware how desolate her son must already feel...and then _that_ woman came unannounced and John missed the opportunity to see her. Mrs. Thornton was afraid her son would view it as his terrible fortune. He might had said that they would never speak of Ms. Hale again but she knew her son. And she knew he felt something for that woman that couldn't be erased by months or even years of separation or even by the fact that, that woman was scandalously rumored to love another.

So here she was about to inform him that his precious Margaret just paid them a visit. He might have missed it true but still if he knew, if she could make him understand that Ms. Hale had more than shown that she had not forgotten this place then surely it would cheer him up.

Her words were up in the air when she saw John, alighted from the carriage, had with his free hand assisted what it seemed like another passenger from the inside. A feminine hand accepted his proffered arm and Mrs. Thornton couldn't help the gasp she unconsciously expelled as that hand was followed by none other than Ms. Hale's face.

Mrs. Thornton finally noticed that her son carried a carpet bag. Ms. Hale's most assuredly.

"You're back quite so soon," Mrs. Thornton said drily to the other woman. With no one about the cotton mills except them, nobody but she knew.

Subsequently, Mrs. Thornton directed her gaze towards her son, about to tell him the details of Ms. Hale's earlier visit when she beheld how her son's eyes shine and how his harsh lips curled upward into a smile. She was his mother, of course, she knew how elated he was at that moment.

"You're staying long?" Mrs. Thornton asked. She didn't show it but she anticipated the younger woman's response with awaited breath. She hated Ms. Hale but only because she had the power to hurt her son.

Margaret answered, almost in a stutter, "If John- _Mr. Thornton_ -wishes to I could stay for a-"

"I want you to stay forever," John blurted out, almost sounding afraid that if he didn't answer fast enough Margaret would change her mind.

Mrs. Thornton's lips pursed in a disapproving line. "She can't stay in Milton forever, John," she told her son. Hearing his indrawn breath and before he could voice his disagreement, she continued, "Ms. Hale has to go to London at the very least once a year to visit her aunt and cousin and maybe purchase a gown or two."

She heard her son's relieved chuckle followed by a muttered, "Or maybe even Spain, with me as her travel companion."

 _Spain?_

The meaningful look the both of them exchanged told Mrs. Thornton that there was more about Spain.

Ms. Hale's smile towards her son was too radiant and her son couldn't help but succumb to it. His own answering smile, a sight even her own heart fluttered to see.

Thusly, Mrs. Thornton pursed lips curved ever slightly upwards. Ms. Hale indeed also had the power to make her son happy...and she would always want happiness for her dear child.

And that had nothing to do with Ms. Hale's money. And what it could do for the mills.

"Come in, Ms. Hale. My daughter might have left something you could wear. I am sure Fanny would not mind it if you use them whilst you wait for your own clothes to arrive," briskly Mrs. Thornton mentioned, leading the two inside her- _their_ home.

-o0o-

~10 21 15 AF P10 22 15~


	2. Reputation

A/N: I decided to just put this here and make a collection of oneshots...although, I'm not even sure if there will be a third one. It will look weird if I call this a collection and there's only 2, right? Hope I'll be inspired to write a third, a fourth, a fif...

Thank you guys for the reviews, faves and alerts :)

.

 **Reputations**

Nicolas Higgins approached Mr. Thornton and Boucher's young son. His shift was done for the day and it was time to go home.

Talking a hold of little Thomas' hand, Nicolas reported to his master that the workers were happy to be back and were laboring diligently.

"Thank you," Mr. Thornton replied. Fully aware that the workers were cooperating much better than before because of Higgins.

Nicolas glanced at the master with mirth dancing in his eyes. "If the rumours are to be believed, we should thank you," he emphasized on the word that conveyed gratitude, making it loud that it stood out in his declaration.

Mr. Thornton's brows knotted, but not in anger, not yet. "What do you mean?" he asked, fully expecting that Higgins' answer is not to his liking.

Nicolas smiled. "People are talking and they are convinced that the new Mrs. Thornton loves you dearly."

The sternness on Mr. Thornton's face disappeared. "And I am sure they are right," he drawled as he started to walk towards the door that led outside.

The working man put his arm on the boy's shoulder and followed his master—and friend—with an outright teasing chuckle. "Aye. I reckon Margaret does love you very much."

" _Anything else?"_ Mr. Thornton inquired. Rumours usually had a nasty part.

" _Tis_ the part you won't like," Nicolas announced, his good humour gone. "They are saying you capitalized on Margaret's vulnerable feelings for you and proposed to her."

Nicolas gave a loud snort, ridiculing such an idea. However, he didn't stop there, he added the words, "Ever since the former Miss Hale saved you from that riot, you knew, she loves you. At the time, you didn't bother to make an offer for her hand for marrying her then wouldn't be advantageous at all. But as soon as you learned she inherited money and was now rich, you compromised her reputation and married her real quick."

Mr. Thornton swiveled back and looked at Higgins, his countenance sharp but only because he remembered… _Margaret lying_ on the floor, on her side, her head hit by a rock. The trickle of blood on her temple and her stillness shocked and scared him so much so then that he couldn't deny, he couldn't pretend anymore that he didn't have feelings for her that he was trying to suppress because he knew, _oh God_ how he knew that she didn't even like him.

But still that did not stop him. He, John Thornton, master of Marlborough Mills proposed to Miss Margaret Hale, an ex-minister's daughter, and was bluntly rejected…

If people knew that— _that_ he was the one who was actually madly, deeply in love with the former Ms. Hale, what would they think?

That he compromised her reputation with a kiss at the train station in broad daylight was because he couldn't help himself.

Margaret at the time was talking about a business proposition but all he could think of then was how he missed her and how she was finally there. There in front of him after so long. As she twiddled with her hands and her eyes casted down, she spoke about business, while he— _hope_ leaped and bounded in his chest. Surely he thought then that she had feelings for him, no matter how small they were compared to his own feelings he was willing to take it. He grasped her hand and…and she raised and kissed his knuckles.

Joy, staggering, blinded him. He kissed her, forgetting where they were. Her lips were soft and willing and he couldn't stop until the announcement that her train was leaving.

She just abruptly sprung from his arms. He thought it was because he had kissed her and scared her with the strength of his passion. He could still recall how that felt—his sudden happiness dashed away while reason dawned that it wasn't real in the first place.

And then, and then he saw her reflection on the train glass window.

If love was like wine, he was sipping the finest one and he was truly drunk and never wished to be sober again.

"People's tongue are wagging, saying you forfeited your own happiness with Ms. Latimer to continue to run the mills. Murmurings of gratitude are abound that your sacrifice saved them from hunger—"

" _Sacrifice?!"_ blasted Mr. Thornton as Higgins' ridiculous statement cut into his reverie and forced him back to the present. _"Being married to Margaret is no sacrifice!_ On the contrary—"

"I offended you," piped in Nicolas, watching how fast anger suffused Mr. Thornton's face.

"Not you," rasped Mr. Thornton. " _Them._ For you know how I feel about Margaret."

"The people are just blind, Mr. Thornton," dismissed the other man, sounding sure of himself. "That you adore your wife is too plain to see."

" _Not plain enough,"_ scowled Mr. Thornton, not appeased at all.

"Come now, Mr. Thornton," cajoled Nicolas. "What's important is that Margaret knows you love her."

"Indeed, she must know," Mr. Thornton answered, sounding almost placated, soothed by such knowledge. Until a sudden thought occurred to him that his wife might have heard of the rumour and that it might sway her to think the same. This made his voice harsh once more as he promised, "And I will never do anything that will make her doubt my feelings for her."

"You're no mercenary, Mr. Thornton," pronounced Mr. Higgins, tapping his friend's shoulder. "Your wife could attest to it but it's unfortunate that you can't just simply shake the reputation of one."

"As Margaret is the only person that needs to distinguish that I did not marry for money," growled Mr. Thornton, "There's no problem."

"Aye, and…" Nicolas paused meaningfully. "Actually, if the workers knew how Margaret has you wrapped around her little finger, your tough reputation is quite ruined."

Not bothering to deny Higgins' statement, Mr. Thornton retorted, "Although I am not ashamed of what I feel for my wife, it's not anyone's business."

Nicolas, with his last statement remaining uncontested, simply nodded his head. Debating inwardly the pros and cons of dabbling and starting a new gossip. With more truth this time, of course.

—o0o—

~10 27 15AF P 11 7 15~


End file.
